


To my wife; from the love of your life.

by im_a_fandom_trashpanda



Category: Angels and Demons AU - Fandom, The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/im_a_fandom_trashpanda/pseuds/im_a_fandom_trashpanda
Summary: Dama explains her wife to her nosy roommate.





	1. To my Wife...

**Author's Note:**

> This piece contains mentions of drugs, murder and blood, but doesn't go into detail. Stay safe and turn back if you're triggered by any of those. 
> 
> Thank you!

For once, she clicks the door softly shut. Which was a mistake really. As someone who always, regardless of her mood, slams the door, she should have known it would pique her nosy roommate’s curiosity.

"Clover?” _Fuck. _

"Not now.”

“I just want to talk—”

“I said, _not now_, Jules.”

She knows it’ll shut him up. It’s how he’s always been. She’s learned it over time, and the dynamic took a little getting used to, but it worked out fine. Sort of.

She hauls off the boots (she’s not wholly sure she can call them hers) and shucks her coat, completely forgetting about her hat until it’s plucked from her head.

She can tell she’s being cold, colder than usual, but she doesn’t want to talk about it, and would appreciate it if he just _fucked off_ back to whatever medical thingie he was looking at before she got back.

“Talk to me.” That’s new.

“Thought you covered physical health.” Though she _is_ sporting a few new cuts and bruises and _possibly_ a split lip that she’s _very carefully_ concealing, it’s nothing she can’t throw an ice pack onto and get a little high to numb the pain.

Of course, that’s all well and good and achievable within ten minutes… Provided you’re on the ground. Which she isn't.

She lets him put her down onto a kitchen counter, partially because she knows better than to resist, and partially because he has the unique ability to disarm her within the time it takes to reach their kitchen from their front door.

With the slightest of flinching and a protest that really won’t make any difference, she watches him rummage through cupboards and drawers to find the things he’s looking for.

“Why?”

“Why what, Julian?”

“Why did you bother? I know you don’t need the money.”

“What, so the _greatest criminal mastermind in all fifty states_ can’t have some _**fun**_ from time to time?”

“I never said that, and it’s not **_fun_** if you come home sporting ten more cuts and bruises for me to clean up each time.” He pauses briefly, concentrating, before asking, “Where _did_ you get these?”

He tilts her chin to study her jaw and throat, making her dark giggle sound a little off-pitch before she replies, “I rather thought you’d be accustomed to the aftermath of a bar fight, Doctor.”

Any other person would be astounded, and yet he simply asks, “Which bar?”

“Mmm… The one a couple blocks from here. Don’t remember the name. I _do_ remember a bird on the door though.”

He pauses momentarily, and she can see by the look in his eye that it wasn’t intentional.

“You’ve been there.”

“And what brings you to that conclusion?”

"The look in your eye.” No point in beating around the bush.

“They do say that the eyes are the windows to the soul.”

“I distinctly remember you saying that you didn’t _have_ a soul.”

He laughs, "Dark humour, dear.” 

There’s a brief pause where his back is to her, and she takes the opportunity to pull her legs up onto the counter and cross them. When he turns back around, she’s sitting with her elbows on her knees, head resting against her palm, staring out of the floor-to-ceiling window to her left.

"You, however, simply must have a soul.” He leans against the counter beside her, supplies put away.

"Why’s that?”

“Your eyes have always been this—this type of blue.”

“... Type of… Blue?”

“Yes, well, I-I mean, hmm…” He pauses to think, “Blue is like the sky and the water. Can be beautiful, but both are also deadly. And, all things considered… I think that just about sums you up, right?”

She turns to stare intensely at him for a moment, then cracks a smile. Try as she might, she can’t clamp down on the laugh that bubbles up and out. It’s not like the cackles when she’s blood-spattered and full of adrenaline, or the giggles when she’s putting on a show. It’s _actual_ laughter. It’s a unique experience, especially since he's never heard it before.

“_J_—” Another wave of laughter— “_That_—!” And she calms considerably. “Deep, but a little laughter-inducing.”

“That would be me.”

“So…” There’s a moment of comfortable silence as he gives up on standing and hauls himself up onto the counter beside her.

They sit back to back, and before long she mumbles, “Why else?”

“Hmm… Well, you have a soulmate, don't you?”

The word makes her tense up.

"Mm. What about ‘er?”

“From what you described, you seem… In love? I know it sounds stupid, and it probably is, but—”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. It makes perfect sense. We we—_are_, in love.”

“Are? Or…?” _Or were?_It hangs in the air even though he hasn’t spoken it aloud.

“...Which one would you like to hear about? Are? Or were?”

“Were.”

“You’re playing a _dangerous_ game, sir.”

“I like to think danger is one of the things I handle best.”

She lets out a huff at his immodesty. “Is that so?”

“Yes, yes, but that’s for another time, now tell me about her.”

“Mm… Well, she… She was kinda different. She came from a more diverse family than I did… She did more, could afford to do more… Some days I hated it.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I never saw her. There’s a lyric I used to recite ‘bout it.”

“Which was?”

She pauses, “_If you're a lover, you should know, the lonely moments just get lonelier, the longer you’re in love, than if you were alone._”

“Memories turn into daydreams, become a taboo.” He quotes the next line.

She leans back against him so she’s not holding herself up, “Mhm.”

“I suppose that’s you now, hm?”

“Some lines resonate deep. Some don’t.”

“I’ll admit I’ve found truth in that as well.”

“So? Anything else you wanted to know?”

She can hear the smirk in his voice as he asks, “How tall?”

“Just a tad shorter than I am. Maybe… Five foot six?”

“Short, then.”

“Bastard!”

“That’s a new one. In actuality, neither myself nor my sister were born out of wedlock, thank you very much.”

“Valid point, but it’s kind of just used as a curse word in general.”

“Hm. It _does_ have dramatic flair, I'll admit. But that's rather _besides_ the point." He thinks for a moment, and his whole face softens. “One last question.”

“... I don’t like that look… But go ahead.”

“Do you… know how?”

“How she, uh… How, um…” _How she died._

“Yes. You don’t have to answer, I know it’s personal but I—”

“It was my fault.”

“Vague. Go on.”

“Right. I, uh… I went through a lot of my life like a kid, I guess. Didn’t really want for anything. Then… A _lot_ changed, like, _a story for another day_, a lot. And we ended up together, I guess. Um… Then I had a few minor debts to pay.”

"Which were?”

“My life.”

He raises an eyebrow, “Tight noose to hang by.”

“Yeeeah.”

“So what happened?”

“They tried to cash in what they were owed. I, um. I just so happened to be performing some song or another with her onstage. She saw it coming. I… did not. Of course, she knew absolutely nothing… She assumed it was someone just come to attack at random.”

“That wasn’t the case.”

“No. I… I…” She tilts her head up again. _She was going to fucking **cry** like she always did about this_. “I watched it happen. I just stood there. And… I don’t know. It’s like I _knew_ something was happening, but… My body didn’t react.”

She slides off of the counter to pace. “I got my _wife_ unknowingly involved in some–some _gang shit_ and she paid the price. I _loved_ her and I watched her fucking _bleed out on the floor_. _I killed her_, Julian, I did, and she probably _fucking hates me_, wherever she is, wherever she went, she probably fucking _hates my guts_ because she loved me and I went and got her fucking _killed_. For what? For money? For drugs? I don’t even fucking _remember_ what she fucking _died_ for!”

She stops pacing to lean on the counter, elbows supporting her head, pressed into her palms. He sits perfectly still to watch her pick up the scissors he forgot to put away and simply open and close them.

She runs her fingers over the blunt edges and asks nobody in particular, “Do you think these could kill someone?”

He answers anyway, "Why do you ask?”

“Morbid curiosity.”

"It would depend on a lot of things.”

“Like?”

He carefully plucks them from her grasp, “Well, it would depend on who has them, for one.”

“You murder _one person_—”

"You have a body count of _at least_ a dozen.”

“You murder _twelve_ people, and suddenly you’re not trusted with _scissors_ anymore.”

“_Only_ twelve.”

“Exactly! It wasn't exactly _genocide_!”

“No, but if you had killed everyone that you knocked unconscious and dragged to me, it probably would.”

“Mmm, no, that would just make me a serial killer—Wait, why am I discussing this with you?”

“Because I’m the only person who doesn’t turn you in?”

“Unlikely. Probably because you’re a doctor or somethin’, I dunno.”

“Could we return to the original topic of conversation?”

“... Eyes?”

“Your wife. What exactly happened and why do you do what you do?”

She winces “... Which part of what I do?”

“The murder pa—Wait, _which part_? Implying that there’s _more to it_?”

“No?”

“Hmm. Tell me more about your wife.” “Artistic.”

“How so?”

“We were... almost polar opposites.”

“She sounds angelic.” She gives a pointed look and he grins. “Like you.”

“THAT’S IT. I’M GOING TO MY ROOM.”

“C’MON I JUST WANNA TALK ABOUT STUFF!”

“I TOLD YOU TO STOP FLIRTING WITH ME, _JULIAN_.”

“YOU KNOW I CAN’T DO THAT!”

“THEN WHY DO YOU TALK TO ME?!”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE PRETTY!”

She stops midway down the hall to stare at him pointedly, standing in the doorway. “Pretty cute!”

“_FOR FUCK SAKE_, JULES—”

“WAIT, I DIDN’T MEAN THAT—”

“SO WHAT DID YOU MEAN THEN?”

“I-I DON’T KNOW, JUST CALM DOWN AND WE CAN TALK LIKE ADULTS.”

“YOU GAVE UP YOUR ADULTING RIGHTS WHEN YOU STARTED FLIRTING WITH ME, _JULIAN_.”

There’s a brief door slam, and he mutters, “Damn it.”


	2. ...The Love of my Life.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian repays Dama in information. She anticipates it... Well. Most of it, anyway.

“At least _my_ handwriting is _decipherable_,” she mutters, completing the curling cursive of her ‘_e_’ and putting the pen down.

There are muffled footsteps outside the door that recede again and again. She’s pretty sure he’s been pacing up and down the hall for at least half an hour.

“Have you worn a hole in the carpet yet?” She calls out.

The pacing stops instantly, and there’s a small pause before his quiet but audible, “No.”

“Mm. Is there something you need, Julian?”

“To, ah. To talk.”

“Mmm.”

She silently closes her notebook and tucks it away in a drawer before going to open the door.

She pauses to tuck in her chair before gently pulling it open. Tilting her head up slightly, she takes in his face.

“About what, might I ask?”

“I, um. I understand you probably don’t want to talk about it, especially since I reacted the way I did, but I was hoping…”

There’s a distant look on his face that she can’t quite place the reasoning for, and it makes her increasingly anxious.

“That I would be willing to humour you?”

“Quite. Er—Would you? Humour me, I mean."

“It’s not like I’m busy.”

“You’re not? I, ah—Of course not! You— You’re not, right?”

“No, Jules. I’m not. Say what you wanted to say before I change my mind and throw you out to wear a hole in the carpet again.”

“Right! Right, well. You explained to me about the… Passing… Of your, ah, your wife, right? Well, I, um. I realised a few things about what you told me.”

“Those things being…?”

“Well, for one… Please promise me you’ll listen to everything I have to say first.”

“As uneasy as it makes me that you’re having to say that, I will.”

“Yes. Well… I realised a few things… In your explanation. One, that perhaps I might have met her at some point in my lifetime…”

“Two?”

“I, ah…” He runs one of his hands through his hair. “I might have been there when she… When you…”

“Is this a confession? Because I’m very keenly aware that you were there.”

“Yes, w—Wait, you are? You knew I was—What?”

“Julian, you’re a _very_ noticeable man. Between the height and the flair for the dramatics… I didn’t know who you were, but I was very aware you were in that theatre. _Why_, I have no clue.”

“That’s what I’d like to explain.”

“You have my full attention,” she declares, jumping up onto her desk and kicking the chair out from under it, gesturing for him to sit down.

“Right. Well, as you know, I was there. What you don’t know is why. Well, like yourself… I was involved in some things.”

“Presumably the murder case you managed to wiggle your way out off unscathed?”

“Yes. That murder case was… I didn’t know who she was, only that it was either her, or my… My sister.”

“Naturally, you chose your sister’s life over an unknown woman.”

“Indeed. I wasn’t told anything, other than the fact that she was slightly younger than myself, and that she… She was a target.”

“Mm.”

“She was a target, and myself, I was a distraction, and… Well…”

“Hold on. Are you telling me _you played a part in my wife’s murder_?”

“... Sort of.”

“There is no ‘_sort of’_, Julian. This is _literally life and death_ we’re talking about. _Do you, or do you not, know who_ _murdered my wife_?”

She stares intensely at him for a long while, watching him fumble for words and wring his hands before he explodes with a “_Fine_! Yes, yes I know who did it.”

“And you didn’t _turn them in_?”

“I-In my defence, I didn’t actually know what side I was on.”

“_The wrong one_.” She grinds out from between clenched teeth.

“I—I’m sensing you’re not too pleased with the information I’ve given you.”

“Not in the _slightest_, Julian.”

“You have to know how _sorry_ I am, I—”

“Shut. Shush. Just. Be quiet. I understand it’s not a normality for you. But _please_.” And there it was. The crack of her voice. The desperation, the loss, the bitterness she’d been trying to bury for three years… Back to life. Back to reality.

She barely registers the featherlight touch on her shoulder, and doesn’t even attempt to shove it off like she knows she would usually.

“I’m sorry … For everything, oh, everything I’ve done.” He says, with no hint of flair or dramatics in sight.

“What?”

“I’m sorry—I–I ruined your _damn life_, and I gave you all those bruises and scars and I never _meant to_, I never even—”

“Julian.” She breathes the two syllables quietly, and yet he immediately stops.

“¿Sí?” He squeaks. She can’t even bring herself to snort at his faulty accent.

“You’re not to blame.”

“Of course I am! You said yourself, I knew who—”

“You were doing what you thought was right. That’s all I’ve ever done, really.”

He stares down at her, one eyebrow raised. She cocks her head and stares right back.

“_Of course you have_.”

“So have you.”

“I—I can’t have, I’ve always been wrong somehow, even with you, I thought you and I—”

“_Please_ don’t tell me you're going to throw the romance card on the table.”

“I thought you and I did things for the same _reason_.”

He leans forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on his knees and watching her hands that have started tapping a rhythm on the desk.

“You think I do things for revenge? Or profit? Entertainment? The things you do are very widely ranged, Julian.”

“Well. I was under the impression of the latter two up until a few hours ago.”

“The former is complicated.”

“That it is.” There's a long pause before she states, “You're not always wrong.”

“Mm?” He glances up at her, now tucked right into a corner. “How’d you figure that?”

“Well, for one, I seek revenge, yes, but I also look for profit and entertainment all the while. Speaking of entertainment, the name of that bar’s just come to me.”

“I don't suppose you’re going to call me rowdy too?”

“No, but I know a few raucous ravens.” A hint of a smile passes across his face before it settles back into a frown.

“That’s beside the point, however. What exactly do you do? How? And—more importantly—_why_?”

“That’s a lotta questions.”

“Alright… Just answer the why.”

“All three. I’m after the _bastards_ that killed the _love of my life_, but the adrenaline from the bar fights is pretty fun, plus the entertainment I get in watching the table-dancing that, seemingly, is a fairly regular occurrence there.”

“And profit?”

She stands and stretches, flexing her wrists and fingers, before smirking at him and laughing.

“I’m certain you know the answer to that, Mr ‘_I can find a way to cheat at any card game within ten seconds of learning the rules_’.”

“It’s not _my_ fault they’re so easy to win!”

“You’d cheat for _anything_ between two dollars and two million and we both know it, Julian Devorak.”

He slouches back into the chair, pouting, and mutters, “_Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it_.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She takes his lack of reply as the end of the conversation and slips through the door.

A few minutes later, the light footed clicking of heels comes back down the hall, Dama appearing in her own doorway—in a _dress_, no less—with his boots and coat.

“I’m inclined to question you, but you do have my very heavy boots in your hand, so I’m going to take those,” he stands, taking both boots and his coat and following her back down the hall, "and then ask where we’re going. Or, rather, where _you’ve_ decided we’re going.”

“I already know you’re the master of playing cards and table dancing, but, pray tell, how good are you at getting information, Doctor?”

“That would depend on what _information_ you’re looking for, Miss…?”

She waits for him to pull on his coat before offering her hand, the same move he pulled when they first met. As he takes it, she laughs and says, “I keep forgetting I never told you my name. I suppose I should trust you with it like I have with everything else.”

He raises an eyebrow once more, “Oh?”

“Nice to meet you, Doctor Devorak. I’m _Dama_. _**Dama Suertuda**_. I’m looking for information on the murder of my wife, and I heard you can help me.”


End file.
